


A Family's Secrets : The Nohr

by crabappleJohnny



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Childhood Sexual Abuse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence, prolonged sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-10 20:08:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20533862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crabappleJohnny/pseuds/crabappleJohnny
Summary: Camilla is lost and stumbles across something she should never have seen.





	1. Chapter 1

Camilla was left on her own very rarely, and so on the occasion she managed to slip away from her retainers and wander the castle, she did. A massive structure of stone and metal, the Nohrian castle was a token of ancient architecture, both vast and intimidating in stature. The bowels of its keep housed the mightiest of Kings the world had ever lived. Her Father was an immovable force, an inevitable tide of change sweeping across all lands. That’s what they said. 

Camilla was lectured on her Father’s great military prowess, of battles won and cities laid to flame and ruin in a campaign to bring order and rightful rulership of the Nohr King. Enemies were toppled and countries fell in sway of his whims. Camilia felt a cold rush in her belly when he touched her cheek. She shook in his presence despite her love. Her adoration. Father was King, he spoke to the Gods. He practically was one. His eyes peered through your skin and bones, cutting your spirit like daggers.

Father is infallible. She would choose to believe this.

Camilla was delving deeper into parts of the castle she’d been warned not to venture. There was a gathering of military personal in the great entrance hall, so guards were scarce in the hallways. Camilla was counting hallways, memorizing bends as she went. 4 turns right, then left, then the window that looks out onto the western terrace. With the dragon statues. Then...right? Or was it left.

Camilla looked behind her, the hallway went on as did the others. Torchlight and rows of carved windows overlooking the abyss. There was no sound but her breathing and the flickering of firelight. Where was she? How late was it now?

Fearing punishment Camilla began to recount her steps following the instructions she’d been keeping in her head. Thinking about her Father had distracted her, and panic at the thought of his anger was making her dizzy and forgetful. She was genuinely scared. Of Father? But he’d never laid a hand on her. He’d threatened to do so, but she was so well-behaved, so acquiescing, Father had not once hit her. She could not say the same for her brother.

Still, Father may hit her if she was found lost in the forbidden parts of the castle. Why were they forbidden anyway? There didn’t seem to be anything different or particularly special about this place. It was quiet and empty. No paintings or ornaments lined the stone hallways.

Take a right at the pegasus statues. Or was it left on the return? Camilla bit her lip and felt tears welling in the corners of her eyes. How could she have been so foolish? Surely she would be punished for getting lost. If anyone found her. Did anyone even come to this part of the castle?

Camilla stood on her tiptoes, peering into the outstretched maw of darkness. There were no telltale landmarks from this view. She’d taken a wrong turn most definitely. Before she would have fled at the sound of footsteps but now she found herself searching for sound, some sign of life in these dreary halls. 

She hunched down, bending at the knees and hugging her legs. Her skirts pooled around her, hair draped over her shoulders like a small shroud. She felt the hiccup of a sob in her throat, felt a sting in her eyes. She was alone, and when the soldiers did find her, she’d be punished severely. It was no good to wander this far from the safety of her retainers and the royal guard.

No. This wouldn’t do. She was a princess of Nohrian heritage, to fall to pieces over such a trivial thing as being lost in her own Castle. No, she would find a way out of this. If she carefully retraced her steps, surely she would find a way back. Camila wiped the moisture from her eyes and nose, slowly standing to her full height. At this age she was only a bit higher than Xander’s knee. He was already so tall and strong. Camilla would watch him sometimes as he trained. His expression was always severe, eyes trained on his opponent. But when he looked at her his eyes softened, they were warm and giving...but there was something else. The way his features relaxed in her presence, she could see sadness there.

Camilla stood and resolutely made her way to the corridor's end. Peeking around the corner she found yet another hallway, almost an exact copy. There was a pang of fear in her chest, but she staunched it. 

‘Keep it together, you’re a Princess of Nohr. You can manage.’ But what would she do when, or if, she ever found her way back? How would she explain her absence? She could play the fool, say she went wandering as she daydreamed into the far reaches of her Father’s keep. That could work. Perhaps.

There was a sound. Camilla stopped in her tracks and flattened against the wall. There was no place to hide, no suit of armor to duck behind. Just the open hallway. There came another noise, this one louder than the last, something strained. Could it be an injured animal? One of her Father’s hounds? That was terrifying in itself, she was warned to keep a distance from those dogs, they could rip a full grown man to pieces before he had a chance to run.

Again, there came a high pitched sound. Something, or someone, was crying out in pain. Camilla felt her breath hitch in her throat. If they were injured who had harmed them? Maybe they needed help, but the beast or villain responsible might still be on the loose. Still, any presence in these dusky halls was welcome. Like every citizen of Nohr she carried a set of Vulnerary should any injury befall her or a companion.

Camilla tiptoed towards the sound, raising her skirts so as not to drag and give away her presence. The cries were muffled at times, then loud and piercing. She heard a sound like a slap, then quiet groaning. She was more curious now, the sound had a familiarity to it. It reminded Camilla of her brother.

There, in the middle of a drafty corridor with it’s open windows looking out into the darkness, there was a door slightly ajar, a beam of light cutting through the dim. From here she could hear the grind of armor rubbing against armor, the sound of metal and chainmail. There was someone crying, but the whispering was indistinct from this distance.

“I’m sorry...Father. Forgive me, I’ve...f-failed you again.” There was a catch in Xander’s voice and a shudder. He let out a weak groan and breathed raggedly. He was suffering immensely, she’d never heard that sort of sound rise out of anyone, let alone her brother who was the epitome of strength. Though in the presence of their Father…..

“Silence your whimpering.” 

Xander clenched a fist and bit hard on his bottom lip. With great shame and humiliation his face was coated with tears and sweat. Still clad in his armor, the sharp edges were digging painfully into the exposed flesh of his hips and thighs. One ironclad arm was pinned beside him, the other lay folded beneath his head. He couldn’t help it, he screamed in pain as he received a sharp thrust of King Garon’s cock.

Garon placed a hand on his son’s face, clenching it with the razor edged claws of his armor. He was disgusted by Xander’s lack of composure. It was his own fault for failing to land a single blow on the King. Young as he was, years of training had led to absolute failure despite the crown Prince’s best efforts. Training in private had led to this sort of punishment. 

Xander had grown into such a fine young man, spitting image of his beautiful Mother. Blessed and Damned to be so elegant and pleasing to the eye.

The tight wetness of their union was exquisite. The King grunted as he leaned over the trembling form of the Prince. Their armor creaked and ground against one another with each thrust. The King was almost fully clothed, Xander was missing any clothing below the waist.  
There was a trickle of oil and slick on the inside of Xander’s thighs, tinged pink with blood. With each additional thrust the King gained momentum, and the stream of fluid down the Prince’s thighs turned darker red.

Garon breathed into his son’s ear, enjoying the feel of Xander’s soft hair on his cheek. The youth’s eyes were closed tightly. He was gasping audibly, trying not to scream. Screaming only made the pain worse. It was for his benefit that he kept quiet, kept still.

“Oh child, you are so vigilant in your efforts to please me, but only in these moments I truly revel in your presence.” The King moved his hand away, slowing the pace of his hips. Xander was shaking, his lips quivering as he shivered from pain.

The King rose, retreating a few steps to examine his son’s exposed backside. With both hands he held the cheeks apart, examining the damaged hole. His cock throbbed and bobbed between his armored thighs, eager to be buried back in the velvet wetness of Xander’s body.

The crown Prince sighed at this brief respite. King Garon’s hands fell away and he was left a moment breathe, regain his will to live. He clenched his fists, grinding his teeth with anger and pain. How could he be so weak? To be nearly and man and suffering the same torment of his adolescent years. It had been long since they’d last trained in private, his Father was lately occupied with new concubines and a fresh wave of Hoshidian slaves.

King Garon had come to him with a command, not a request.

“Train with me and prove your might. You are nearly a man and still I see no promise in you. Convince me otherwise.”

Xander had not.

His Father made a grunting sound as he lowered himself to the ground. He crossed his legs as he sat mimicking a sage. There was wisdom and cruelty in his Father. He was a Saint to a vengeful and merciless God. Praise Anankos in his name.

King Garon let out a low laugh, patting at the armored thighs of his lap. His cock stood vigilant, large and slick with oil and blood. It pained Xander to even look at it, humiliation wrung his guts into a knot.

“Come to me boy. Take a seat on your throne.” Garon beckoned to his son, a smile spread over his ghastly features. Time had not been kind to his Father. The thirst for power and dominance over the continent had warped him. Xander felt love for his Father, but also great disdain. He would fight for him, obey every order, maintain the status quo. But this… this humiliation broke his spirit. Why would he use him in such a way? If it hadn’t worked when he was a boy, if he hadn’t grown strong enough to defend himself, why now?

Xander let out a ragged sigh, removing his gloves to wipe the snot from his face. He was flushed and exhausted, pain throbbed between his thighs in the pit of his bowels. As he turned to Garon he exposed his own flacid penis, practically shrunken with the harsh treatment.

“At least I can see you don’t enjoy it. No chance of you getting smitten with cock and taking a liking to getting buggered. Come, sit.” Garon grinned with his teeth showing, feral like a bear. A monster with black gums and cruel laughter. Xander felt the sting of his Father’s words and bowed, removing his chest plate and shoulder guards.

Slowly, with great pain to his pride and body, Xander came to rest above his Father’s lap, slowly lowering onto his knees.

“Yes, that’s right. Impale yourself on me. Feel it pierce your insides like a dagger.” It was just like that, the large root of his Father’s cock was enormous and engorged. Xander lowered his ass, feeling his hole kiss the tip of the fat head. Still slippery with a variety of fluids and his own blood, the hole allowed easy entry of the once cradled phallus.

Xander sighed and choked as he lowered himself, controlling the movement best he could with the shaky muscles of his thighs. He took the shaft best he could, feeling it enter deeper than before. If he wasn’t careful the whole thing would bottom out, and he’d feel the substantial sack of Garon’s testicles.

As if guided by thought Garon gripped his son’s hips and lowered him down harshly, thrusting up inside at the same moment. There was a loud slap of his thighs against Xander’s ass and the Prince screamed, pressing his face firmly against the King’s chest. He sobbed and choked, feeling heat in his face and tears. It was too much, so much at once that it broke his resolve. This was the worst pain, the ultimate harassment and punishment. Why would his Father do this? Why not let him be a man, let him be free of this sort of torture.

Garon was laughing with such a deep tremor it was almost a growl. Xander let himself go, lying against the King’s chest as he mercilessly pounded into him. Ride the pain, let it wash over you and move past it in your mind. The pain was monotonous now, it had a rhythm, it was predictable. With each thrust he could anticipate the next. 

‘Ah, this is familiar.’

“My boy. My boooy.” Garlon purred as he relentlessly fucked the crown Prince. “How you’ve grown, and still so weak. So pitiful. That’s all you’re worth, my pity.” Garon eased his movements, slowing the pump of his hips.

Xander was pulled out of his trance by the change of pace. His Father was turning his face, making him look at him. 

‘No, not this. Not that. Don’t look at me. Don’t look at me! I can’t stand it.’ His mind was screaming.

“My boy.” Garon forced his face, catching his gaze. Xander could smell his stale breath, it was like the wind of a deep and damp cave, devoid of life or warmth.

“Kiss your Father, kiss your King. For I am all you could want to be. Show your appreciation for my adoration.”

Xander had not exchanged a kiss with his Father in all these years. Never had he once toyed with the thought. Xander had not once kissed a soul but his Mother, her gentle caress had comforted him as a child. It was something unsullied, a radiant and sweet memory in a sea of torment and disgrace. He could not bring himself to do it.

“You deny me?” His Father said, giving a particularly slow thrust. With Xander still in his lap he removed a single glove, then reached with a chilled hand to palm his son’s flaccid cock. Xander was horrified and shocked by the gesture. Never had the King insisted on this, on kisses, on Xander’s genitals. It was only the worship of the King’s body. With his hands, his mouth, or his hole. Never a shred of attention on any concept of Xander’s pleasure. That’s not what this was about.

The King striked and played with Xander, rubbing the shaft and head. There was only a slight response, natural twitches as a chilly finger rubbed at the slit of Xander’s penis.

“Offer your mouth to me Xander, I will not ask again. You do not want me to force it.”

‘Better if you forced it than give in.’ Xander thought. Better death than this, to ruin a single memory of his Mother. Of her gentle touch, untinged by lust or disdain. The gentle exchange of a parent and child.

The King grew impatient, grabbing Xander’s face and pressing his cold pale lips against the warm pink lips of his son. Garon forced the flesh apart, the thick solid muscle of his tongue had an iron force, shoving between the teeth and clogging the inside of Xander’s mouth with it’s girth.

Xander gagged and sputtered, squeezing tears out of his eyes. It was disgusting and horrifying, the taste alone could drive him mad, like rain on stone and the irony taint of rust. He whimpered, feeling the King’s gloved hand on the back of his head, forcing him into a harsh and deep kiss. The naked hand was still stroking his limp cock, all the while his Father’s own still buried in him. Soon the King would climax. 

Xander faded internally away from the sensations. Anywhere, but here. Anything but this. His Father was grunting into the kiss, his nostrils flaring with effort as he fucked deeper, harder. He’d regained his quick pace, harsh and rhythmic.

As suddenly as it had begun, the thrusting stopped. The King broke their kiss and sighed, his eyes closing with pleasure. His orgasm wracked his body and threw his senses alight. 

Xander leaned forward, feeling the throb in his hole and the fluid leaking in globs out of his sloppy entrance. His Father had cum inside, leaving a mess to clean up in the aftermath.

He’d had enough of this. He wiped his face again, waiting for permission to move, to do anything but wait. Garon stopped his minitrations with Xander’s penis, letting it be in its limp state.

“You may rise. We’re finished.”

Garon waved a hand at the boy, seemingly careless once his goal was achieved. How simple men were. The gratification of orgasm, sadism, the cruelty of war and control. All his Father’s playthings, the world of men, a chessboard.

Xander was eager to gather his clothing. The cold air of the castle’s distant keep made his skin crawl. He wiped his thighs and ass with the undergarments he’d worn, before discarding them on the ground. A servant would surely clean this training room. He didn’t want to be caught carrying cloth stained with blood and semen from his rape.

He only gathered his armor, replacing what he’d shed in order to maintain any stature or composure he had left. Xander was regaining his breath, his face still flushed. Aside from the tears it seemed he had only been training hard. He’d fight the urge to limp.

King Garon was rising himself, rearranging his armor and donning his prominent codpiece. Xander looked away, swallowing hard.

“Fa-” His voice hitched as it did when he was a boy, catching before it regained its original tenor and tone. “Father, I take my leave. Th...Thank you for instructing me.”

“Return to your chambers. Ready yourself for tonight’s Revelry. I’ve heard the news of new territory captured in the eastern provinces. Mighty are we.” He laughed.

“Learn from this. Gain strength.” Garon finished.

“Yes, my King. My Lord.” Xander bowed to his Father despite his averted gaze and left without another word. His expression was stern and angry now, as he left he felt his brow furrow in its perpetual frown. He massaged the bridge of his nose, fighting off the urge to cry with humiliation. Out of his Father’s sight he felt such self pity, such rage and disgust.

Xander paused, running and gloved hand through his hair. He felt at the sword at his hip, a symbol of power and protection. He was a soldier again, not a frightened child terrified of his Father but also longing for his affection.

“Big...brother?” There was a soft voice ringing in the quiet around him. A child’s gentle trill, like a small bird. No birds sang here.

Xander turned with a gasp, catching sight of his young sister Camilla, barely two months into her sixth year. She was crying, was she hurt? The crown prince moved to her, pulling her out of sight, down the hallway and around a corner to give them some privacy.

“Sister, dear, are you hurt? What ever is the matter?” Xander crouched down to her height, wincing with a stab of pain as he did so. “What are you doing here?” He said weakly, his voice strained.

“I….I….” Camilla was crying almost as hard as he’d been. Her face wet and sobbing. “I’m sorry Brother, I got lost...and...and” The girl was hiccuping and rubbing her eyes. Her skin was cold, she’d been lost in these freezing hallways for how long?

“Shuuush. Shush. Don’t cry, you need to be quiet. All right? I don’t mind that you’re here, but we’ll both be in very big trouble if you’re caught. I need you to be brave and come with me quietly.” He felt fear biting at his nerves. The thought of their Father catching his small sister here in such a mood. It made him want to heave and anger.

“Xa-...Xander.” She whispered. “I….I saw...I saw Fa-Father…” She was hiding her eyes with one hand, rubbing her cheeks with the other. Her hands were wrung into little balls. Terror and sadness shook her.

“Sister. Do not think of that, forget what you saw. It was not for your eyes to see.” Xander was shaking, his body riding waves of shame and sadness. He had not meant for anyone, especially not Camilla, who was too young, whom he wished to stay pure for as long as possible, to see that. He wanted to protect her from this. The world Lord Garon had sculpted around himself was treacherous and vile.

“Xander ...I'm sorry.” She sniffled. “I’ll...try to be...brave like you.”

“We will both be brave.” He smiled, it was weak and weary. “Let us go.”


	2. A Beast Most Foul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The price of growing older in a Dragon's Keep.

Months passed in the shadow of witnessing Xander being abused by their Father. The sight was burned into Camilla’s dreams, warping them into vicious nightmares. During waking hours she was occupied with her studies, delving deep into the world of magic and the dark arts. She had a natural talent for such things, excelling despite being so young. Her thirst for knowledge of the witchcraft was fueled by the urge to arm herself, should any harm befall her or her siblings. King Garon had Fathered a baby half-brother with a young concubine over the course of the year leading up to her seventh birthday. 

Camilla caught glimpses of Leo’s mother heavy with child, rubbing desperately and nervously her swollen stomach. By now she’d learned from overheard conversations and read in the texts of medicinal magic, that a man takes a woman and plants a seed in her belly. The seed grows a child that passes from her womb into the world. Storybooks insisted love was involved somehow, that love sparked life. So two people have to love each other to commit… sex.

Camilla woefully thought of Xander and what she’d seen. What transpired in the dark between her Father and brother wasn’t love. It wasn’t to make a baby, she knew that much. Two men did not make children, so sex…. The act, was not love.

Romantic poetry spoke of love and eluded to lust. Lust was sex, so love without lust was best. Camilla decided then that she wanted no part of lust or romance. She’d devote herself entirely to the familial love she felt towards her brothers and the distant memory of her mother. She wasn’t sure what she felt for her Father. What she felt for him had changed. His approval was important, in fact it was tantamount above all else, but could she say she still loved someone she saw as a monster? Someone, something, so frightening and cruel.

Xander was.... distant. She didn’t blame him. The pressure of war and noble responsibility kept him away from home. When he did return. and especially after glorious victory, there would be so much celebrating they’d catch not even a glimpse of one another. Nohrian armies were winning the war, pushing their lines further and further into Hoshidan territories. Lives may be lost in conquest, but each sacrifice made greater their Kingdom.

On the day of her tenth birthday there was a great feast, and Camilla was held in high esteem, now deemed a young lady of the court. Still learning to master magic and wyvern riding, her life was split in two. At one moment she was a Nohrian Knight, the next a noble girl of courtly prestige. Her wardrobe changed, clothes became cinched, more revealing. Necklines plunged to reveal her growing bosom, shirts rose higher, exposing ankles and calves of slender make. Becoming ever taller and filling out, Camilla was soon a spectacle of the aristocratic circles. Respected for her warrior’s skills, admired for her ever unfolding beauty.

Camilla did not mind the attention at first, the way she could guide the eyes of men and women, how she could manipulate them to do her bidding. Servants and nobles alike turned to jelly from her soft smile. 

Training had increased in difficulty. Her spells were being put to use in trials and mock battles. By the time she’d bled her first moon blood, she was training with weapons while flying, the strong bodies of her Wyverns bellowing between her thighs. It gave her a thrill unlike any she’d felt thus far. As a woman, her body was increasing in sensitivity. The massive, growling beasts gave her strength and power, an advantage over the enemy that only Nohr’s warriors could boast.

The creatures seemed to recognize her affinity towards them. They bowed to her presence and nuzzled her face with their horned muzzles. When Camilla could manage she’d oversee their feeding and care, feeling a bond deepen that overshadowed those she had with most humans.

On one occasion her Father had arrived at the stables with prisoners of war. Before her eyes he commanded the beasts to consume the captives and within minutes they were no more. Camilla had endured this. She trusted the strength, her Father insisted, would be granted to the flying cavalry with the meat of men filling their bellies. This image, like that evening she found her father and brother, would be burned into her mind as well.

Grow stronger, use his cruelty to your advantage.

Of all relationships Camilla cherished was that of her siblings. Leo was soon a toddler, walking about on shaky legs with an overabundance of curiosity. He rivaled her eagerness to learn and would often spend their time together asking questions about defensive arts and spell crafting. He was gentle at this age, perhaps a bit spoiled. He really did not like being teased. 

They would share tea in his nursery sometimes, a quiet respite from a rush of training with knights or toiing studiously for hours with her tutors. If she wasn’t spread over a dusty tome deciphering runes, mastering a series of techniques with and array of weapons, or practicing court etiquette, she would find a way to see her brothers.

Xander’s company was hardest to claim. Their most common ways of communication was a series of polite letters, exchanged by servants or soldiers at the front lines. Their Father surely would read any dialogue between the siblings, and so there was a dry and hollow nature to their words. Still, this small interaction brought her great joy. Time had healed some wounds, her brother was valiant and full of pride, growing into a true man of the Empire. He would, if anything should befall their Father, take the throne and be a strict but dutiful King.

Their letters were cordial but retained genuine sentiment. Xander spoke of lands beyond Camilla’s travels, of foreign tongues warm skies. Xander did not recount the atrocities of war in his letters, choosing rather to inform her of the different plants of the region, the variety of animals they would hun. Sometimes his letters would contain dried specimens of different flowers or seed pods she could plant in the Castle’s gardens. These gifts she treasured, and her heart began to burn for him in a way it did for no one else.

Camilla wasn’t sure what to make of the feeling. It was beyond what she felt for most people, and it was still quite raw, quite new. Her heart felt warm, but so did her chest, her cheeks, her stomach and lower abdomen. The sensation of riding her Wyverns with their thick bodies pressed against her groin was similar. That disturbed her, so she tried to quell these them best she could.

It had been a year since her first bleeding and her body had changed greatly. Where once her chest was smooth and flat, so now sat a sumptuous chest that was barely contained by her old dresses. A new wardrobe was tailor made, befitting her age and class. In the new gowns, her appearance transformed, and a different person seemed to stare back at her from the mirror. She did not suddenly feel her age, but much older. While still children of the gentry played when not training, she was now expected to behave, To not move in such a way as to beguile. Running was out of the question, the bounce of her bosom and sway of her hips would torment and tantalize even the most pure of priests. This is what she was told. Her body was becoming a prison.

King Garon had kept his distance, occupied with a seemingly endless resource of young women. Courtesans, slaves, women of pleasure….

Her brother.

‘Don’t think about that!’ Camilla grabbed her ears as if to shut out the sounds of her own thoughts. ‘That was not for my eyes to see.’ She breathed hard, lowering her hands to her sides. Supper was over for the evening, the soldiers had been fed and nightly rounds were beginning. The sun had sunk below Castle Krakenburg’s line of sight. A sliver of sky still shined with a fiery glow, stars starting to speckle its gradient like embers.

“Sister?” A voice came from behind her. When she turned Xander stood behind only a few paces away.

“Br-” Camilla was startled and a little embarrassed. She’d only just finished training in the yard, her face was dirty, hair done up in a messy braid that fell over one shoulder. Her armor had dents and dings in it, obvious signs of rough combat, along with a few dark bruises on her exposed skin. Her chest, however, was quite exposed, and it moved with every intake of breath. He hadn’t seen her in...months? A year? Had a year gone by without a glance exchanged?

“Big brother!” Camilla felt a pang of love for the Prince. She wanted to rush forward and throw her arms around him, crush him tight in her embrace, kiss his cheek. She wanted to be as near to him as possible, feel the warmth of his skin with her palms. But as things had changed, as she was now a lady, such an embrace would be out of line. As a brother and sister of Noble birth, a young woman and a grown man of the Nohr family, she must remain rigid, restrain her feelings.

“Dear brother. It’s been so long, too long! I am overjoyed you have returned home safely.” Xander’s expression brightened as she said this, his face one of surprise and humility. Their letters had become more intimate, their speech less formal. While Xander knew Camilla to be a bright and eloquent noble child, he now returned to receive a competent young woman as his sister. The trials of battle had whittled him down to a fine edge, and though his sister had not seen the flames of war firsthand, she had trained and great warrior’s prowess beyond all initial expectations. Their Father was eager to update Xander on any and all of Camilla’s ‘advancements’. Those both public and private. There was a threat in his praise, and it left a metallic taste in Xander’s mouth like iron. How he hated the taste.

“Yes it’s been over a year. Just how much has changed in my absence? Come, bless me with your embrace.” Xander held out his arms, inviting his sister towards him. It did not take but a moment for Camilla to fling herself into his arms. She pressed against her brother, hands resting on the chest plate of his armor. She could feel the heat of him through the metal, the smell of oil and salt of his sweat. A deep pang hit her in the chest. She felt so much love for him, he was hers in so many ways. She’d told him her fears and her dreams in so many words over the months they were apart. She relayed to him her achievements as well as her failures. He was critical but kind in all reflections on her progress.. They’d shared a life half way across the continent for months, but now he was here in front of her, in her arms.

“Oh Xander how I’ve missed you. You are safe and I am so happy.” She was flattened against him, the crown Prince sighing with a soft laugh. His expression melted into one of relief, and Xander found himself burying his face in Camilla’s lavender hair. The scent washed over him like a balming tide, and he embraced her tightly, armored hands reaching round her back. They remained like this for a long moment, savoring what might not again be theirs. 

Xander had relied on Camilla’s letters, a beacon of hope and a reason to keep fighting. He would be strong for Father and for his nation, but first and foremost he would fight to protect her safety and that of his small brother. Keep the castle a sanctuary from harm, keep the demons at bay. But what of the demon nestled at the heart of it all? His Father the King, the Great Beast. Xander had not appointed this name, but he did find it rang true.

Xander’s eyes were closed as he held Camilla tight, only breaking away when he caught himself counting the beats of her heart. He felt as if he could fall into that pace and drift to sleep.

“When did you arrive? I did not anticipate your return.” She took into account his exhausted frame, the travel worn look of his clothing. 

“Only as night fell did we reach the gates. I first had congress with Father, but was intent on seeing you train. It seems I was too late. Forgive me for finding you at such a late hour, I wanted to see you before the evening ended.” He was still holding one of her hands, but let it fall away as they stepped apart.

“Please do not apologize, a moment with you is worth a thousand training. Please tell me you’ll be here until the next feast day? It’s only 12 days time. If only you could remain here.” Xander’s expression darkened, he glanced away, then back, clearing his throat. 

“Father… has requested I stay. Yes.” He frowned visibly, his mouth twisting like he’d tasted something foul. “It will be a good time for the two of us to catch up, and at last I may spend time with my littlest sibling. How is Leo?”

Camilla beamed despite Xander’s apprehension. All this time and her brother would remain in the castle! It made her heart flush, the thought of him being so close was exhilarating. They could take tea, they could go riding, he could help instruct her sword mastery. And all the while, Father would be watching, wouldn’t he. With his sadistic gaze on her brother. She raised her gaze to Xander’s pained eyes. How could she be so stupid? Xander would be here, yes, with her and with Leo but also with Father. Had he avoided being home all this time to avoid future torment? How could she have been so foolish.

“Leo is bright and brilliant. I expect him to astound everyone with cunning and charm. He’s captured many hearts even as a small boy. The servants can’t help but baby and spoil him. Nothing is denied Leo, I fall pray to it as well.” She touched Xander’s armored hand, running fingers along the sharp edges of his clawed fingers. Armor of war. How many men had these hands slain?

“I’m sure he will live up to his name. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him, word has spread that the second son of King Garon is learning the dark arts, and with the tutelage of his sister no less..” Xander smiled wearily and nodded. “How fearsome you two will be.” 

“How fearsome I already am! Leo is still a baby but I’m prepared for battle. Soon I hope Father will allow me to assist you on the front lines.” Camilla balled her hands into fists, holding them at chest height in a battle ready stance. “I can fight, I could even protect you by now.”

“I would be honored to fight at your side, though I am not eager to see you risk your life. For the rest of our lives we will be fellow soldiers.” Xander raised his hands and placed them on Camilla’s, lowering them to her sides. “For now I’d like to see you as my little sister.”

“I’ll always be your little sister.” She said, and felt a different kind of pang hit her heart. A realization that perhaps her feelings were misplaced. The sensations of her body in reaction to Xander were more than familial. There was a flood of color in her cheeks, the closeness of Xander, his praise, it all felt too good to be normal. What was normal for their family after all? After all she’d witnessed?

“Have you had supper?” Xander asked Camilla, resting a hand on her shoulder, thumbing the messy braid of her hair. 

“I was training, I’ve not eaten since midday.” Camilla returned, hoping the color in her cheeks would be mistaken for the flush of recent exertions.

“Will you join me for a late meal?”

Camilla was about to answer in radiant agreement when a form loomed in the darkness behind her brother. Her breath hitched in her throat, body went rigid. A large, pale and dry hand reached forth and clasped Xander’s shoulder. 

“My children, it is late and still you roam the halls. Has the sun not set?”

There was a look of resolute horror as the Prince turned, meeting the eyes of King Garon. Camilla had not been in the presence of the King and her brother at the same time outside of court. They did not mingle at meals or social events. Father handled affairs at home, Xander was his outstretched hand grasping for more land, more power. Camilla was only now entering their world.

“Xander you must be exhausted from your long journey. Eat, clean yourself, and rest.” The King’s hand fell away, beckoning towards Camilla. “Daughter, join me. I’ll take this evening’s meal with you.”

Camilla was stunned. Shocked at such an audacious request. She had not been prepared for an audience with her Father, let alone a private meal between the two of them. She was still dressed in her training garb, armor now uncomfortably digging into her ribs from prolonged wear. How she had dreamed of a meal with her brother, only to have it redacted and replaced with the terrifying and unexpected company of the King. Her Father.

Xander was the epitome of anger and disdain. He glared at their Father, unsure of how to react. Camilla assumed their prior conversation had not gone well, and had a sinking feeling that Xander’s resentment might be on her behalf.

“Father… have you no better company than Camilla? She is also long fought and deserves rest. It was foolish of me to propose a meal at this late hour.”

“I would never deny a request Father, but I am quite dirty and weary from training. I am not suited to linger in your presence. Perhaps I could join you tomo-”

“What imprudence from my ungrateful progeny. What right have you to question me? Xander, to bed with you, Camilla, you may join me in the state you are in. Follow.”

Xander did not relent and spoke in a desperate manner, reaching out to grasp his Father’s forearm. The King turned in horror.

“My Lord please, Camilla is still young. Let the Princess rest easy and dream of her studies, of how to better serve your Empire.” Xander was pleading, his voice heavy with guilt.

The King roughly shrugged off Xander’s touch before raising the same hand to slap him with the back of it.

“You know better. You’ll regret that.” King Garon turned a heavy gaze to his daughter. “Camilla, come with me.” The King retreated from the direction he’d come. Camilla stood still, her eyes searching Xander as if asking what to do. He looked at her sadly then shook his head. Despair and dire acceptance. That moment, the look in his eye, she would remember always.

Camilla’s footsteps were lost in the shadow of her Father’s, his presence like a terrible storm. There was an aura of electricity around him, the air felt frenzied in his presence. It made her realize how little time she’d actually spent with King Garon. The discomfort was too memorable.

King Garon took her across the royal grounds to his inner chambers. Guards bowed and opened doors without question. The soldier’s would not meet her eye, but servants followed quietly behind. The doors of the royal chamber were opened wide for them, revealing a dark room lined with candles. A fire roared in the far corner, the windows high with curtains drawn half way, the night outside black as pitch.

King Garon entered the room in a flourish of robes. The servants who followed close behind helped to remove the large overcoat he donned in court. The doors closed quietly behind them, King Garon’s stewards dutifully removing layers of his clothing until the King was bare chested, still donning his trousers and boots. His back was immense, Xander’s size not even a third of their Father’s. A huge hulking tyrant of a man. How they all feared him, how right they were to fear him.

Beside the King was a table lined with a midnight meal. Fresh fruits burst out of cornucopias, small hand pies of various sizes and ingredients filled baskets lined with cloth. There were thin cuts of smoked meats, cheeses of both creamy and hard varieties. Her stomach growled in delight, but also twisted in fear. In another life she’d be sharing this meal with her brother. She’d be in Xander’s bed chambers, she’d be alone with him…

Garon sat with a heavy sigh in a seat near the window. His thighs spread and arms draped over the chair’s sides. There was a small table near him with a box of rolled cigars and an uncorked bottle with two glasses. The substance in the bottle was translucent, and its astringent scent wafted in the air. She was still too young to have grown a taste for such things. 

The King filled one glass halfway, the other to its brim. The latter he downed in one fluid motion, then offered the second to Camilla.

The Princess did not move, only stood in her armor, disheveled and bruised. He was plying her with alcohol? To what end in such bizarre conditions? Her brother had been outfitted in armor when her Father had taken him.

“Take the drink girl. It’s best you do.” His voice was a low growl, inhuman. She was afraid to disobey and so she took the glass, staring at the liquid, sloshing it around to let the fumes rise. They stung her nose and she winced.

“One gulp. Down the hatch.” The King motioned with his one hand, raising a cigar with the other.

Camilla didn’t want to drink. It smelled foul, it was bound to taste worse. It was obviously meant to make her drunk, lose reason and strength. She’d been forbidden anything stronger than weak beer served with meals. Even wine was beyond her reach. To drink something so potent it could undo the hardiest of soldiers, seemed frightening.

The King didn’t repeat himself, only bit the end of his cigar, spat the refuse out the open window, and lit the thing on an open flame of a nearby candle. Camilla was hesitant, but she feared what he would do should she refuse. Slowly she tipped the glass, letting the fluid touch her lips, then her tongue. It was bitter, it burned as she opened her throat and swallowed in one go.

The King was pleased, he nodded as he took a drag from his cigar. The alcohol burned like liquid fire through her innards. She felt it rest like a hot iron in the pit of her empty stomach. Without food she’d feel the effects of the liquor sooner. Already there was a dizzy sway to the room.

“You are hungry child, and you shall eat. Take what you like.”

Camilla’s stomach growled at the offer of food. It all looked quite delicious, a meal reserved for a King. However, in the Presence of her Father she found her appetite lacking. Once again, fearing what would happen should she disobey, Camilla stepped towards the table, moving to take a seat across from her Father. He motioned for her to stop.

“No, where you’re standing. Choose.” The King rubbed one of his thick thighs, smoke emanating from his gaunt face. He was eyeing her like meat. She recognized that look, he reserved it for his concubines and his whores. Had he looked at her Mother this way? As he now looked at his own daughter?

Camilla picked up a bundle of grapes, the fruit closest to her and out of reach of her Father. They were small jade green orbs, still moist with dew from their washing. Her mouth watered as she ate, stomach lurched as she avoided the King’s eyes.

The grapes burst into her mouth with a flow of sweet juice, making her lips moist. 

“Remove your armor. Shoulders and chest, thighs and calves.” In that particular order, she assumed.

Camilla suddenly saw the figure of herself separate, from afar, in front of her Father. She watched as the young woman’s body moved of its own accord, acquiescing to the King’s command. The girl she knew was herself removed plated armor and stood waiting for the next command shakily.

“Turn for me, move your body. You know how to dance, do you not?” The King’s growl was like a lion’s purr. Predatory and hungry.

Camilla watched the girl who was her move her hips, her thighs undulated, breasts swung in a sultry motion. She saw the girls eyes half lidded, watched the line of her sight out the window, past the seated King, into the abyss.

“Remove the leather garments. I want to see flesh.” He said the last word as if chewing it, gnashing the syllables with his teeth.

The girl did as she was told. Camilla watched her remove the leather tights, exposing smooth milk colored thighs. Her ankles showed as she stepped delicately out of the discarded clothing. Still donning a long tunic, her hips and breasts remained covered. 

Camilla, the small girl child hiding in the far corner of the room, tiptoed towards the door. Camilla, the young woman before the King, removed the rest of her clothes, leaving bare her whole naked body. The girl child slipped from the room, leaving the young woman to fend for itself. 

Camilla felt the expanse of Garon’s bed hit her back hard. The air went from her lungs and she gasped. Her Father had flung her with little effort across the bed chamber, slamming her into the firm mattress. Though such violence was not unexpected, Camilla still fought the urge to scream or cry in retaliation. An instinctual part of her insisted on silence.

Garon was on top of her with a frenzied rush, his large hands grasping for handfuls of her flesh. She felt his palm grab the flesh of her thigh, spreading her legs apart while the other gripped a breast, undulating the flesh between his thick fingers. She felt like a rodent trapped in the claws of a raptor bird, a screaming eagle tearing a vole’s flesh asunder in its talons.

She choked on a small whimper as his mouth enveloped her right breast, the nipple slipping whole into his sucking mouth. His lips were cold and sticky, she felt her stomach turn, the few grapes she’d managed to swallow pressing painfully at her gullet. The King’s weight was heavy on her for a moment, a hungry and sucking mouth consumed her with vulgar sounds. Once satisfied he eased back, sitting upright to pry apart her thick thighs up and expose what lay between them.

Half of Camilla was locked outside the room, her ears covered and her eyes squeezed shut. This girl child screamed and cried for the rest of her that lay splayed beneath King Garon’s thighs. Garon was staring at the rounded mound of his daughter’s succulent cunt.

There was a trickle of pale hair above her clitoris in a small ‘v’. He’d heard of her transition to womanhood over the past year and had been biding his time, waiting for an opportune moment. Xander’s return had triggered a fire in his loins that the Prince could not satisfy. His affections had come to lie elsewhere, in the lap of his eldest daughter, the Princess of Nohr, Camilla. Such a sweet child.

Garon raised the girl’s hips, forcing Camilla to arch her back. A thin but plush layer of soft fat overlaid deep muscle across her body. Her form was pliant but taught from years of fencing and riding. As fit as any soldier, but overlaid with a woman’s supple and sensual weight. How she’d filled out was impeccable, a body more vulgar and lust inducing than her Mother’s. How he’d improved this generation.

The King placed his mouth over the mound of her cunt, licking a straight line from her asshole to clitoris. His tongue shoved into the slit as it passed, lapping up and tasting the whole of her. This made her cry out, and she whimpered weakly, thighs pressing together firmly in protest. Garon gripped them and wordlessly pressed them open, forcing his head between them to ensure access.

Camilla felt the girth of her Father’s tongue lapping her back and forth. The motion created heat and moisture, her body reacting as it did when she rode the Wyverns, when she thought of Xander late in the night. It leaked and flushed, her labia swelling and growing increasingly sensitive. Tears formed in her eyes but she held back sobs.

Garon sucked and lapped at her slit. He savored the salt of her sweat after a hard day’s training, her groin sweet with a woman’s musk. His face ground into her labia, tongue delving into her narrow canal. She was still a virgin.

Camilla squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip hard. The King’s tongue was prying her open and searching inside. She gripped the sheets with one hand, the other rising to her face to stifle a cry. Heat was burning in her cheeks as a tide of shame washed over her. She found her Father terrifying before, but now she felt disgust and revulsion. Her stomach was in knots, the pain of hunger fought the urge to vomit in fear and loathing.

Garin let his tongue slip out of her vaginal canal, a last lick at her upright clitoris, stimulated into a hard nub. Camilla winced, her thighs twitching. The King seemed to like this reaction and raised a finger to press and grind the small clit.

Camilla whined as he dug a fingernail into sensitive flesh, her legs kicking as he did so. She’d been exploring the sensory parts of her body as of late, but never ventured into such harsh treatment. Garon replaced his nails with a wet tongue, making slick the raw clitoris. Camilla was breathing hard, thighs shaking as he slowly rest her hips on his thighs, forcing her to straddle his thick waist from a lying position. She was on her back, exposed to him. Her braid had come undone in her writhing, hair a fan around her, sticking to the sweat of her skin in places and curling from the moisture.

The King unsheathed his large cock and Camilla felt fear grip her heart. She’d seen the silhouette of his massive erection in the candlelight that night long ago. She’d not understood the significance, only that it was a weapon used to punish and torment its victim. Handmaidens had insisted that intercourse, the key to procreation, would be something she’d learn to tolerate, if not enjoy. Surely she would marry a handsome Noble of high standing. Surely she’d be unbroken on her wedding night, able to give herself freely to a Prince like Xander.

She felt tears spill from the thin lines of her eyes as she thought of her brother. Had she been doomed to this fate all along? Is that why his eyes were so sorrowful when he looked at her? Camilla would cry for her want of Xander, to be near him safe away from their Father. But her time had come, an eventuality she should have recognized.

King Garon was settling himself against the folds of her entrance, pressing the wide head at the tight hole prepared only by his tongue and their mutual secretions. Camilla felt the fight rise in her, and she arched her hips away from him. A scream rose in her throat and she protested.

“No, My King, please! Please no!” Desperate words escaped her lips, she was breathing erratically now. She thought of those concubines and their swollen bellies. What sort of demonic creature would spawn from their union? Camilla stifled the urge to heave with a scream.

Garon did not tolerate this and clasped a large hand round her neck, palm crushing her throat. Camilla choked and whimpered, trying to force her hips away from him. The King gripped her neck, squeezing tight enough to stop the flow of air and blood. Camilla felt her already dizzy head go numb, the throb of blood in her ears slowing its even pulse. With his other arm he steadied her thighs, pulling them close enough to press the end of his shaft against her vaginal opening.

Now she would cry for herself, tears of humiliation, hatred, pain and disgust flowed freely. She could not separate herself from it any longer. The girl she’d locked in the hallway, the last vestiges of childhood, wept pitifully. 

King Garon penetrated Camilla slowly, forcing himself painfully into her virginal cunt. The pain was excruciating, and the King let go her throat to allow a scream to escape her lips. Camilla’s chest heaved, her breasts spread and bounced like soft pudding. Garon’s cock pushed through her hymen, snapping the flesh without hesitation. The pain was sharp and it throbbed as he plunged deeper, stopping only at the hilt. Camilla could feel dense hair around the base of her Father’s large phallus, the strands rubbing at her splayed labia and abused clitoris.

She cried and gasped, her Father bending over her as he began to thrust, pulling out to the tip and pushing back in far as he could go. She was pleading for his mercy, to cease this pained torture. Why did she deserve his ire and his lust? What had she done aside from grow up. She’d always been so obedient, so willing to please… Had Xander pondered these same questions? 

The irony smell of blood filled the air. She was bleeding from her soaked pussy as Garon painfully drove into her. She thought of the blood between Xander’s thighs, her own a vulgar mimicry. 

Camilla writhed as her Father pressed his weight down on her, cradling his face in the crook of her neck and sucking her hot flesh with feverish demand. His mouth and teeth left stinging welts on her neck, a trail leading up to her chin. Now his tongue forced its way into her mouth and she screamed, her throat vibrating with the sound as his mouth gnashed at hers. 

A vile taste like blood and stone. She wretched into the kiss, feeling the few morsels of food she’d ingested rising up. She tasted bile and broke away from the kiss to expel the contents of her stomach onto the bed beside her. The King intensified his thrusts and Camilla was forced to grip the blankets to stop her head from slamming against the headboard. He was riding her hard, lifting a voluptuous thigh to gain a better view of their illicit union. How is cock moved in and out of her, slick and sloppy with the sounds of gushing fluid and taught flesh. 

The Princess wept openly, now leaning on her side, resting a cheek against the blankets. Her Father pushed strands of hair from her face, watching her wince with every movement. She was no longer begging him to stop, she knew he wouldn’t relent.

Camilla was moved to her knees, cunt and backside protruding into the air. Garon had removed his cock to examine the used hole of her pussy, now stretched and loose from his diligent fucking. He was taking his time, pushing her body to the brink, leaving bruises and bite marks on her breasts, on the underside of her arms, and in the delicate creases of her thighs. 

The King leaned down to lick up the blood of her lost maidenhood. Camilla whimpered as his tongue once again slipped into her, cleaning the passage thoroughly with a groan. 

“Such a sweet cunny, my dear girl. Just like your Mother.”

\---------------

Camilla was alone in the dark room. By now the candles had gone out and the moon alone gleaned light into the silent space. She lay still splayed, naked and doused in a series of secretions. Her lips were bruised and swollen from constant kissing and biting. Tears had crusted over in her eyes, the salt burned but there was no moisture left. Even if she could, she didn’t feel like crying anymore.

How long could she lie there? Scared to move for fear the King would return. Her mind insisted that if she remained still, no harm would come to her. Lift a finger and he’ll sense you and ravage you. How many times had it been? She’d lost count.

‘This very well may be where I die.’ Camilla thought silently. She felt like she could die, the pain was so bad. Part of her wished she would, the part that feared shame, pregnancy, more torment, a repeat of this traumatic event. Surely, if she survived, there would be more. Xander was a firm reminder of that fact. 

Camilla dared to turn her head, catching sight of the sky from the window. In the dim, very faintly, she could see the color returning. Daylight would break soon.

Someone, something, touched her face. Camilla went rigid, fearing the presence of her Father. He’d left without a word, and no servants had entered till now. 

“Camilla…” A trembling voice cut through the quiet room. Xander had come to comfort her. Xander was looking at her shattered self on the bed, bent and broken like a baby bird freshly fallen from its nest. They were pitiful, eyes unopened to see the truth of the world. Ignorant to the surrounding hazards and predatory beasts. 

Camilla turned to meet her brother’s face. How sad, how full of guilt and rage. She must look terrible, the night’s sins written on her skin in bruises and blood. She raised a hand towards him, beckoning him closer.

“Where is Father?” She asked, afraid for both their safety.

“He is gone. I alone am here with you.” Xander reached out to take her hand, it was warm. Calluses marred his inner palm but their presence was reminder of strength, of the skill necessary to wield his sword. She was soothed by this and his powerful presence.

Xander let out a ragged sob, deeply wounded by his sister’s vacant state. He did not blame her for retreating internally, but she seemed so changed, so silent. She stared through him, eyes watching ghosts on the walls.

Camilla caught his gaze, her eyes were open in thin lines. She smiled.

“I’m happy you’re here. More than anyone.” She thought she had no tears left, but her heart welled as did the moisture in her eyes. “Will you bless me with your embrace?” Her lips quivered.

“Kiss me, so I do not taste him.” She pleaded, and Xander did so.

The Prince bowed over his nude sister, fists clasping the hand she had extended towards him. At first the kiss was gentle, a press of lips. But she opened her mouth, beckoned him inside, and he kissed her deeply.

Camilla’s features relaxed as her eyes drifted closed. Xander was holding her now, propping her up to wrap a large and warm shawl around her naked body. The fabric was soft and enveloped her easily. She was still not full grown. She felt an arm under her thighs, the other beneath her shoulders and upper back. Xander was lifting her away from the soiled bed, stained with blood, sweat, vomit and other unspeakable things. 

Camilla felt the heat of her brother’s chest through his clothing. As Father had commanded he was freshly washed, though she was sure he had not rested. He must have known what would happen when the King requested her company alone.

Camilla was barely aware of their movement through the castle, but she heard her brothers raised voice break through the haze of her drowsy state. He snapped at a pair of servants who stood awkwardly, at a loss of what to do with the injured Princess.

“--and a basin with three pitchers of hot water. Don’t stare go NOW.”

Xander pushed into Camilla’s room, past the dumbfounded servants to place his sister gently as he could on her own bed. She sank into comforters and quilts, her sticky flesh still shrouded in the heavy shawl. He began to unwrap her, bringing into view the blossoming bruises across her entire frame. Yellow splotches were darkening with pink and purple pressure marks. Xander could see his Father’s handprints on her breasts, her thighs, around her neck. 

Camilla seemed to have drifted into something like sleep. He worried about any head injuries the princess might have sustained, they could be deadly if she dozed off. The servants thankfully returned promptly with all he’d requested. Bandages, salves, Vulenaries, absorbent cloth, and a change of clothing. Xander was tempted to attend to his sister’s washing and wound treatments himself, but the Servants were already eyeing him strangely. 

Gods. They think I’ve done this.

“Please, help her.” He pleaded, hoping the conviction in his voice would ward away their suspicion of him. “I found her in this wretched state, a beast had almost devoured her.” He felt sick with the words, anger twisted his features. 

“A beast most vile and foul.” His breaths became ragged, eyes red rimmed and frantic.”I beg you both, please ease her pain.”

The servants nodded and began the delicate cleansing and healing of the Princess. These women had attended the Camilla all throughout her adolescence. They might have expected this day, and so saw to their duty without complaint or question.

Xander could do nothing more, he must let Camilla rest. He felt tears at the thought of leaving her in this state. He could not stand the thought of her waking up alone. He would stay, he would wait long as he could.

**Author's Note:**

> **Late to playing FE: Fates and wanted to get this scenario out of my system. More Nohr family incest if I get up the gumption. I find their family dynamic horrifying but intriguing. If you're new to me I write a lot about incest and rape in my personal work. It helps me sort of work shit out from my past and while I don't have to be honest about this, there you go.


End file.
